Monkey Truck

   A deep layer of damp fog kept the morning cool and Albert, departing from San Simeon State Beach where he’d spent the night, headed south towards Morro Bay. On this morning, perhaps left over from yesterday’s sense of joy, Albert rode with an absolute feeling of purpose.

   Following the coastline through the heavy fog, Albert passed through the small towns of Cambria and Cayucos, before catching sight of the impressive Morro Rock – “A national preserve and nesting ground for the rare and endangered Peregrine Falcon,” whispered J-Bird to a surprised Albert. J-Bird also reminded Albert about the importance of expressing appreciation, respect, and love for all of nature’s creatures, and not to over-look those that were the closest and a constant “support” in his life before they also became extinct.

   From Morro Bay, Albert took the Los Osos Road into San Luis Obispo, where he found himself crossing paths with the AIDS/LifeCycle riders. From SLO, Albert decided to ride with them along their route which headed for the Pismo Beach area. By now the blanket of fog had lifted leaving a warm, sunny afternoon. Albert took lunch with the lively and entertaining AIDS/LifeCycle riders and roadies, and after visually scanning the colorful crowd, re-connected with the young Buddhist, Julian. In conversation, Julian, whilst practicing some pretzel-like, yoga move, told Albert about a young roadie he’d met, that was volunteering her time in exchange for a ride back home to Mexico. Julian couldn’t recall her name but told Albert that she could be found working on one of the baggage trucks – the ‘Monkey Truck’ to be specific. Albert was sure it had to be Ali, and with a joyous feeling radiating from within, found himself on the verge of excited, about finding out for sure.

   Leaving Pismo Beach, now eager to find out if it really was Ali that Julian spoke of, Albert upped his cadence. From the time he’d met Ali back at Lake Quinalt, in Washington State, Albert held a small place in his heart for her – frequently sending her positive thoughts for a safe journey. A short distance down the road, Albert caught up with the ‘Midnight Ridazz’, a group of fast-paced cyclist from Los Angeles, and by temporarily taking advantage of this small peloton, was able to catch his breath as they carried him along. Together they hustled through the small Spanish-flavored towns of Oceano and Guadalupe, and with the now arid, dry, and dusty conditions, it was beginning to feel a lot like Southern California. 

   Heading east on route 166, with the wind pushing them along at speeds nearing thirty miles-per-hour, the small group of cyclists pulled into the town of Santa Maria. The AIDS/LifeCycle riders were camping on the north side of town at Preisker Park and Albert, wanting to confirm that it actually was Ali that Julian had spoken about, figured that he could find himself a secluded patch close by to spend the night.

   Albert quickly made camp and headed over to where the AIDS/lifeCycle baggage trucks were parked. Easily finding the ‘Monkey Truck’, Albert, from a short distance confirmed that it really was Ali. As busy as she appeared, hustling to unload rider’s baggage and tents, Albert chose not to disturb her. For the moment, he was content in just knowing that she had made it safely this far. He wanted to share road stories but being a patient young lad, was able to contain his excitement and postponed their reacquainting for a more appropriate time. Besides, after an eighty mile ride, beyond his continued sense of joy, he was fatigued and hungry. On top of which, he desperately needed to replenish his depleted supply of yarn before the following morning.

Big Sur

  The Big Sur campgrounds were located in the Los Padres National Forest, slightly inland from the rugged seashore, and after rising, Albert found a narrow trail that wound its way down to a secluded beach cove. Albert found the sparsely populated Big Sur coast, where the Santa Lucia Mountains rise abruptly from the Pacific Ocean, simply a marvel to view and explore. Climbing up and perching himself upon a rocky precipice that overlooked the pounding surf below, Albert enjoyed a little breakfast from the small surplus of food that his panniers still held. Albert reflected on some of the Artists that had temporarily been attracted to the area over the years. There were authors that he’d read like Henry Miller, Hunter S. Thompson, and Jack Kerouac, and poets Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Robinson Jeffers that he’d tried to understand – he wasn’t there yet. Albert had also heard about actors, painters, and spiritualists, along with singers and songwriters, that had all been at one time captivated in some way, by this amazing stretch of coastline – its isolation and spiritual connectivity. Heading back up to camp, Albert packed up his overnight gear and after his ritual morning stretches, rubbed the belly of his black stone Buddha, made a mental note that upon returning home he’d have a re-read of Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’, settled into his well-warn, and perfectly molded Brooks saddle, and peddled out for the day.

   Leaving behind the tiny community of Big Sur, the Cabrillo Highway climbed up a large hill before finding it’s way back down to the coast and its magnificent views. Albert found cycling in this area to be physically demanding and had to stay alert to the many touring motorists buzzing up and down the coast. The road was narrow, winding, and at times steeply rolling as it made its way up to the small town of Lucia, which sat ocean side of the 5,155 foot, Cone Peak. Eventually, Albert pulled up for a stop at a gorgeous little spot called Plaskett Creek and took a refreshing dip in the cool ocean waters.

   From Plaskett Creek, refreshed from his swim, the ride past San Simeon and Hearst Castle was long and hard, but Albert found his rhythm and cycled with an almost overwhelming sense of joy and freedom. The surface of the road was smooth and the riding felt effortless as the sun, setting in the west, warmed his flesh and soul. In ‘the zone’, Albert experienced a spiritual unity with all the characters he’d meet over the past three weeks and with loving thoughts of Blue Bird and Golden Piglet, J-Bird, Ali, Mo, and Bo, together, down the highway they rolled.

Eco-pod Housing

   Albert woke at the crack of dawn with the intent of joining up with Julian and the rest of the AIDS/LifeCycle riders. The previous evening before they’d separated, with Julian entering the fairgrounds and Albert heading off in the direction of The Tannery, they had arranged to meet up and ride out together. The AIDS/LifeCycle riders were scheduled to depart at 6:30 a.m. and Julian had told Albert that he’d bring him some camp breakfast – corn bread, bananas, and juice. Albert would have liked to have found out what the Tannery Arts Center was all about, but being so early in the morning, there was nobody around to ask. He figured he'd save his intrigue for a later J-Bird conversation.

   Albert, quickly got himself over to downtown Santa Cruz and whilst waiting for the AIDS riders to pass by, noticed a poster for sanjosebikeparty.org – San Jose being a town just north of Santa Cruz. The poster announced an upcoming third-Friday ride with the theme of ‘Light It Up.’ Albert had read about ‘Critical Mass’ and other bicycle gatherings in some of the larger towns and cities around the world. These were well organized, large group rides, that brought cycling awareness to the general public. The poster mentioned that the once monthly San Jose rides, were apparently attracting up to a thousand riders per event, and that for a few hours in the early evening, cyclists of all types on fixies, cruisers, lowriders, etc., would cycle through San Jose and the neighboring towns of Los Gatos, Campbell, and Willow Glen.

   At about 6:35, Albert caught sight of the first AIDS/LifeCycle riders and shortly after, as Julian past by, slotted himself into the departing procession. Under a blanket of morning fog, the pre-arranged route took the riders through the seaside towns of Capitola and Aptos, then inland through Freedom and Watsonville. The Watsonville landscape offered a bountiful array of fruit and vegetable fields that were being worked by migrant farm workers and produce pickers. Albert noted what strenuous conditions it appeared to be for the workers, and hoped that they were all well compensated. Continuing south on Highway-1, the cyclists rode past Moss Landing and Elkhorn Slough – with its abundance of wild-life, a popular spot for kayakers. At the town of Seaside, Albert once again said his farewells to Julian and some of the other AIDS riders that he’d gotten to know. Their route took them inland and Albert, who earlier had noticed signs for Monterrey and Carmel, chose to take the coast road. They figured their paths would again cross, some place farther down the road.

    One of Albert’s favorite books was Cannery Row by John Steinbeck, and with that in mind he chose to eat lunch down by Monterey’s Fisherman’s Wharf. Although commercialized and touristy, Albert, perhaps partly due to fond memories of passages and characters from the book, could not help but like the feel of this old canning town. Now refurbished with few remaining old and weathered canneries, Albert sat on the wharf looking out on the calm waters of Monterey Bay, and whilst attempting to converse with the barking seal community, imagined how it must of been back in Steinbeck’s day. Along Cannery Row, contemplating some local neo-retro architecture, Albert’s thoughts returned to the concept of ‘Eco-pod Housing’, and looking around for J-Bird, Albert felt it time for a little lesson. A large amount of the population of Santa Cruz, like in Arcata, and Mendocino, had an earthy feel about them and Albert assumed that these were locations that the earth-friendly, ‘Eco-pod Housing’ concept would take root. Out of sight, but always close by, J-Bird felt Albert’s calling, and from her wealth of earthly knowledge, formulated an answer to his question.

   “The ‘Eco-pod Housing’ concept, is part of a response to combat America’s love affair with ‘bigger is better’, a defensive attack on it’s out-of-control ‘urban sprawl’, and a means to stem the flow of damage that modern ‘super-sized’ housing has caused the environment,” stated J-Bird. “The ‘Eco-pod’ is earth-friendly, reduces the size of the human population’s ‘carbon footprint’, and incorporates, low-emissions recycled building materials, gray-water harvesting systems, irrigated rooftop gardens that double as insulation, solar panel powering, natural light, and odorless dry toilet composting,” she continued. “Key to it’s success,” she noted, “is the use of locally produced and/or recycled products.” Albert listened intently and excited by his new-found knowledge, imagined the amazing potential for a future boom in ‘Eco-pod Housing’ development.

   After his new lesson, Albert and J-Bird followed the coastline through Cannery Row to the attractive town of Pacific Grove, past Point Lobos Light Station, the wintering spot for Monarch butterflies, and via 17-Mile Drive, into the pretty, but somewhat snooty, ‘artsy’ community of Carmel. South of Carmel Valley, the coastline became rugged and wild, with it’s hidden coves and dangerous cliffs. This was the impressive Big Sur coastline, home to artists and environmentalists, and the stunning vistas lived up to every word he’d ever read, that championed it’s beauty.

   At Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park, Albert pulled in and made camp. It had been a seventy-mile ride, and with night soon to fall, he wanted to hike up to a point where he could catch a view of the day's setting sun.

AIDS/LifeCycle

  Albert awoke habitually early feeling exhausted. The previous evening he’d connected with a group of lawless fixed-gear cyclists and spent the bulk of the night “mashing it up” with the crew in the Mission district, China Town, North Beach (with it's legendary City Lights bookstore), and beyond. These fixie purists were the equivalent of two-wheeled anarchist, running amuck in “The City”. Extremely skilled and versatile on their minimalist, brake-less bikes, they pulled crazy tricks, and ascended and descended some of the steepest grade hills Albert had ever ridden.

   Through morning showers, Albert departed San Francisco by way of Mission Street, which soon became the El Camino Real. Reaching the outskirts of the city, Albert found his way to Juniper Sierra Blvd., where he found himself being swooped up by a large group of cyclists heading in the same direction as himself. Albert realized that he’d stumbled upon a well organized event and asked one of the riders as to who, what, and where they were all heading? He learnt that there were more than two-thousand, three hundred cyclist, all on a seven-day ride, over five-hundred miles from San Francisco to Los Angeles. They were all part of a fully-supported and sponsored ride called AIDS/LifeCycle, and each rider had raised a minimum of $3,000 that went to one of two non-profit organizations that helped in bringing public awareness to the AIDS/HIV pandemic. Albert, chatting with Julian, a young rider from Los Angeles, was informed that the ride was annual, that this was the ninth year (in its current format), and that this year’s crop of riders had raised over ten million dollars for the cause.

   Albert was amazed and enthralled at the sight of so many cyclists at one time. Riding in single file, with the appearance of a multi-colored snake, the line of riders stretched out ahead as far as the eye could see. Past Crystal Springs Reservoir and up Half Moon Bay Road they traversed, and upon reaching the summit, Albert bade farewell to Julian, parted ways with the pack, and headed south along the rolling and twisting Skyline Road. At the crossroads of Skyline and route 84, at a small motorcycle gathering spot, Albert swung west and via the hamlets of La Honda and San Gregorio, sped down to the Pacific Coast Highway. Here Albert found himself reunited with the AIDS/LifeCycle riders and quietly slotted himself back into the long and colorful line. Albert had never ridden with a large group of cyclists before, but welcomed the experience as they swept along at a steady pace. Albert imagined that he was riding in a brake-away on one of the European grand tours.

   With an on-shore fog bank, the weather along the Pacific coast was seasonally cool, damp, and gray. The road rolled up and over coastal bluffs, lined by grassy headlands and near-empty beaches. For most of the ride the ever present ocean was calm and the limited surf ritualistically peeled and broke along the remote shoreline. Traffic on Highway-1 was light and Albert rode with the large group of riders past the town of Davenport and shortly after into the city of Santa Cruz where the gray skies had departed leaving the area drenched in late afternoon sunshine.

   It was on the west side of downtown that the AIDS/LifeCycle riders were spending the night at the local county fairgrounds, and as Albert’s yarn was about to run out, it was the right time for him to find a location to pull-up for the evening. Exploring around, he was able to secure an out of the way spot at the base of the Santa Cruz Mountains, on the grounds of the Tannery Arts Center. 

   Before calling it a night, Albert took a curious stroll back to the fairgrounds where the AIDS/LifeCycle riders were camped out. Here, around a hub of alphabetized rows of closely placed little blue and green tents, was an incredible buzz of activity as thousands of people came and went, visiting food, medical, and technical tents, as well as utilizing shower-trucks and port-a-toilets. Like a nomadic tribe, this was a well-organized, three-thousand strong, portable community. Heading back to the Tannery for the night, Albert witnessed a beautiful visual. As the sun dropped beyond the western horizon, he came across a flood-lite field that was a temporary home to thousands of gleaming bicycles, all neatly corralled side-by-side, row after row. It appeared, that they, like their riders, were ready to snuggle-up the night after an eighty-five mile day on the road.

Local Grown

   Throughout the night, a brisk cold wind had blown in off of the ocean, but by morning it had completely dissipated and Albert awoke to cobalt-blue skies and the growing warmth of the sun as it began to reveal itself over the eastern ridge line. It was still early, and Albert took some time to enjoy the dawn by strolling through Bodega Bay’s small marina and over her dunes. Early morning was his favorite time of the day. For Albert, this was the “quiet hour,” when most people weren’t yet up and there’s was a sought of pre-day calm, where an anything is possible kind of feeling hung in the chill morning air.

   Whilst sitting on the dock of the bay, Albert found himself in the company of J-Bird and decided to strike up a conversation on the subject of a posting he’d noticed that read, ‘Local-Grown.’ J-Bird, in great detail, explained the benefits to both the consumer and producer of purchasing locally-grown goods. She explained how by buying local, it enhanced the economic, environmental, and social health of a particular place, and that it was a means of cutting out the global corporations, processors, manufacturers, and shippers, providing the consumer with a fresher product, one that was conducive to a much more healthy lifestyle. An alternative to large, grocery chain stores, packaged, frozen, and travelled foods, where the middle-man controls the quality and reaps the financial profits. Albert had a hundred questions for J-Bird, who he felt was a wonderful representative of mother nature, but with the morning fleeting, opted to hold his questions for a later date.

   By ten, with a head-full of great new food knowledge, Albert was back on the road. Leaving Bodega Bay, Highway 1 turned inland and slowly rose its way up to the small town of Valley Ford. Thereafter, the road took a ninety-degree right turn and rolling over challenging hilly countryside, headed for Tomales Bay. This area, as the road paralleled the sparkling bay, with its Eucalyptus trees and water views, was quite lovely. Here Albert noticed an increase in fellow cyclist on the road, and gathered that this area must be quite the popular spot – taking in the location, he could understand why. At Point Reyes Station, Albert took Sir Francis Drake Boulevard and with a noticeable increase in elevation, temperature, and poor road surface quality, headed up and over to the town of Fairfax. Beyond came the towns of Larkspur, and Marin City, and here, just north of San Francisco, Albert sadly recognized a change in attitude amongst his fellow cyclists. Over the past three weeks of open road cycling, he’d been greeted by the genuinely friendly, smiles, waves, and nods, from every cyclist he’d encountered, but suddenly here in this neck of the woods, the spandex crowd appeared to have their noses turned up – here, sadly, there was a stink of cycling-snobbery in the air.

   At the peak of Corte Madero Road, off in the hazy distance, Albert caught his first glimpse of the impressive San Francisco skyline. Albert rode through the small tourist town of Sausalito and climbing up a steep wind-blown hill, pulled up to the entrance of the Golden Gate Bridge – standing firm since 1937, this was one of the most famous tourist attractions in the world. One thousand, two hundred and fifty miles from home, dodging the hundreds of tourists, Albert rode across to the City of San Francsico.

   Albert made his way through the popular Golden Gate Park and into the legendary Haight-Ashbury district, a mix of touristy camp, post-punk trendies, and neo-hippies. Continuing on through the lively Castro neighborhood, Albert rode down into the Mission quarter and finally ran out of yarn, sixty-five miles from Bodega Bay.

Mendocino Coast

  The following day, refreshed from a long rest and with a belly full of healthy food, courtesy of Georgette, Albert was able to get an early start. This was much appreciated, for as the day’s ride unraveled, Albert was surprised by the road conditions that he encountered. There were some quite challenging climbs along this portion of coastline, some of which hugged steep cliff faces featuring sheer drops to the rocky shoreline and its fishing vessels below. Today, to Albert’s advantage, the winds were on his back and shortly into the day, the remains of the morning fog had burnt off, leaving blue skies and bright glorious sunshine.

   By mid-day, Albert passed Fort Ross, which turned out to be the start of a strenuous ten-mile stretch of winding coastal highway, that included a five-hundred foot climb, culminating in a fast, hair-raising, switch-back descent. Shortly after came the town of Jenner, where the Russian River meets the Pacific Ocean. Here, Albert pulled up to catch his breath, and made his way out to the sand spit found at the mouth of the river, to bask in the sun with a handful of beachcombing tourists.

   Leaving Jenner, via a narrow bridge over the Russian River, Albert rode passed Goat Rock State Beach. This was the first in a series of Sonoma County beaches culminating at Bodega Dunes State Beach. Albert soon found himself in Bodega Bay, where the classic Hitchcock movie, ‘The Birds’ was set. He hadn’t seen Blue Bird or J-Bird for the last two days and wondered if perhaps they might be here – catching up on a little chatter.

   After another hard, but relatively short fifty-miles, Albert found a quiet peninsula beach, and with one eye out for gatherings of large clusters of birds, set himself up for what looked like a cold, windy, night.

Georgette

   Albert over-slept and awoke to the creaking sounds of an old heavy door being pushed open. In the charming little town of Mendocino, Albert had spent the night in a converted old water tower, and now faced the tenant of what (looking around him) appeared to be an artist’s studio. The tenant, Georgette, turned out to be a sweet-spirited, elderly lady, from San Francisco. Georgette, originally from Paris, France, was a slightly eccentric, abstract painter, who, for a slower-paced lifestyle and the sheer natural beauty of the area, had relocated to Mendocino a number of years back. Slightly surprised, but not overly concerned by Albert’s presence, Georgette, returning from a short gallery trip to the Bay Area, whilst sharing a hearty breakfast of fresh bread, butter, raspberry jam, and sweet coffee, listened intently as Albert explained his story and the reason for his overnight stay.

   Georgette, captivated by the picture painted of Albert’s colorful tail, offered up samples from her own collection of yarn, enabling him to continue his blossoming adventure. With sincere thanks and farewells, Albert, panniers restocked with food and drinks, a generous gesture by Georgette, was on his way. Heading down Highway 1, through thick, damp, fog, Albert made the arduous ride south, passed the small towns of Albion, Elk, and Manchester. Highway 1, here along the Mendocino County coast, turned out to be, whilst beautiful and awe inspiring, a struggle to cycle. Narrow, with limited shoulders, the wind swept area, winds its way through rolling grassy hills, and steep broken coastline.

   By early afternoon, Albert reached the town of Point Arena, and visiting its famous lighthouse, perched himself above the cliffs and ate his lunch. After eating his meal, continuing his ride down Highway 1, the road wound steeply over headlands and dropped sharply into deep coves, taking its toll on Albert’s strength. Just before the town of Gualala, Albert got a front tire flat, the first since leaving Vancouver – his white, Vittoria Randonneurs, had travelled well. Now on the verge of reaching town, fifty miles south of Mendocino, Albert called it an early day and pulled up at the Gualala Point Regional Park.